Millenial Nostalgia
How Sari Shryack gives us the perfect dose of serotonin
My sister’s room is a child’s dream. Her room, which is relatively large through incredibly claustrophobic, is divided into sections. One section is the CupHead section, one section is the Pokemon section, another is the Zelda section, a shrinking Harry Potter section, and the Studio Ghibli section. Dungeons & Dragon memorabilia, along with lesser-known tabletop games, are all over. There’s a giant poster of the Digimon characters from season one I gifted her for her birthday. And everywhere, everywhere there are Funkopops.
She has stuffies (as one of my nieces calls them) of various Pokemon. We walk around comic conventions for hours so she can hunt the right one down. Our many nieces and nephews like to crowd into her eternally messy room. They’re amazed by all of her ‘toys.’ They’re confused as to why an adult must have all of these ‘toys.’ And they question why an adult won’t give them all of her ‘toys.’
My room is less appealing to children. My brother-in-law says my room is somewhere between a library (I house about 700 books in my teeny tiny room), an antique store (I have a lot of vintage and antiques), and a museum (I have a lot of art). To the wonderful surprise of my nieces, I also have stuffies. But they’re not allowed to play with them or let them leave my room.
I have two teddy bears that are something of a marvel in my family. They’ve been with me my entire life, and are in mint condition. Both bears were gifted to me when I was a newborn in the hospital, and I’ve never let them leave my side, much like a certain porcelain doll. My nieces have asked me time and again how I managed to keep them clean for thirty-one years to which I explained they aren’t for play. In fact, none of my stuffies are for play.
It’s safe to say my sister and I have different approaches to nostalgia. She’s rewatched all of the original Digimon series, a series that was a seminal part of our childhood. She’s rewatched Sailor Moon (I’m talking 90s Sailor Moon dub here) and started collecting the old manga. I, on the other hand, don’t care to look at those things. In fact, I go out of my way to avoid them. They’re clearly defined in my mind, and sometimes I find when I rewatch old shows, I dislike them. Nostalgia is not enough for me to keep loving something, so to preserve the love I have, I stay far far away.
When we go shopping, my sister will insist on looking at the Pokemon cards. When we go to look at cards, she’ll say, “I’m healing my inner child.” Perhaps ‘healing her inner child’ is what Sari Shryack is doing with her work. Or, and thisis what I suspect is more so the case, Sari is taking millennial nostalgia to new heights.
It’s impossible to not feel the joy radiating out of Sari’s work. I can’t help but love her work and find myself smiling. A disco ball? A GIANT PAINTING of a disco ball? Delightful! She combines bright colors with her gorgeous technique, ditching classical compositions of still-lifes for a dash of the zany 90s and early 2000s. Where Andy Dixon will take classical compositions and make them new with colors and texture, she takes classical imagery and reforms it to meet us where we are today.
Sari’s work often reminds me of something missing in fine art: FUN. Two of my all-time favorite artists are Marisol and Magritte. Both artists are incredible, and their work features immense depth, but also an incredible dash of humor and delight. Even pictures of Magritte are filled with his humor, and I was delighted to discover his biography doesn’t spare us from funny stories throughout his life. Sometimes I just wish art was more fun.
It’s always harder to be funny rather than serious. To be funny, you have to be able to acknowledge the serious things in life. You have to be able to face those dark horrifying realities of our world, and then you have to choose to find the humor. Many horror writers are said to be funny and delightful in person, and I’m not surprised. They’ve faced the horror, now what’s left?
Sari Shyrack is an American artist born in 1991, making her a millennial. She describes her childhood as one in poverty, and often speaks of the anxieties surrounding financing a family as an artist, something felt much deeper if your early life was touched by the trial of living low-income. Despite our world’s constant messaging of minimalism and de-influencing, anyone who grew up low-income knows the incredibly beautiful value of stuff. Both of my parents grew up in third-world circumstances, and I’ve inherited a desire for things and money from them. For my father, shoes were the ultimate luxury. I thought he meant dress shoes, but he clarified for me exactly what he meant: any shoes.
To me, the most infuriatingly chronically online take to be the new money vs old money. In the end, we’re still talking about wealth, but what makes my skin crawl is the underlying context: if you weren’t born into money, then you are by nature ‘tacky.’ And this wealth isn’t the result of ‘parents who pulled up their bootstraps’ but generations of privilege, the only valid way to be wealthy.
You see, Sari’s work is confronting both millennial nostalgia for that '90s childhood and what defines our socioeconomic tastes. You might think you’re just looking at a collage of nostalgic items (candy I can taste by looking at her paintings, toys from long ago, a Nintendo 64 controller, and my true love: Lisa Frank), but there’s a deeper conversation here about what is tacky and what is worthy of fine art consideration and when is consumerism good or bad.
Consumerism is only bad when the poor are the ones consuming. When someone who is low-income buys a product that is low-quality and mass-produced, that’s tacky and a sign that they are their own worst enemies. Consumerism is never bad when the wealthy are the ones hiding behind their wealth to mass-produce low-quality products at ridiculous prices for the poor. That’s smart business.
“What sets my work apart is the deliberate juxtaposition I create. Coming from a background as a girl who grew up in poverty, I intentionally infuse my art with themes and ideas that are culturally associated with lower socioeconomic levels. Through my paintings, I tackle subjects of gender and class, and the medium itself inherently gives them a sense of elevation.” - Sari Shryack in this interview
Can a cheap toy found in a Dollar Tree be fine art? Sari’s work asks this exact question. Her work is unabashedly colorful, bright, and in your face in the way that the ‘new money look’ claims to be. Yet, her work doesn’t scream Kardashian-Jenner (and thank goodness for that). Rather, her work speaks to millennials, to those who scroll through dancing TikToks before sighing over outrageous Zillow listings. She finds a way to ask us deep questions with bright colors, incredible joy, and yes, I’d still say some slight humor as well. You get a sense that Sari is the kind of person you could have a good laugh with.
I find millennial nostalgia so interesting. As an experiment, I went around and asked various family members what was the best decade they lived through. Universally, the answers were the same except for the millennials. They all picked the years they were teenagers, talking about how much fun it was to be a teen in the 70s, 80s, or 50s. Millennials, on the other hand, said the 90s, when they were young children. For them, the best time of their life was the time when their biggest concern was getting up in time for Saturday Morning Cartoons.
All generations crave youth, but millennials crave freedom from responsibility. I can understand why some might groan and roll their eyes at this, but that’s the core difference between millennials and everyone else: we at least admit what you’re thinking. My parents are boomers, and they love it when I tease them with “ok boomer” jokes. They think it’s genuinely funny. Were I to complain about the dreaded ‘adulting,’ they’d reply, “Yeah, same here.” Then we’d move on, because what else can we do?
We can shop.
My family is in a huge Disney phase. Yes, they’re *shudders* Disney Adults. I reason it could be cocaine, so I let them go on and on and on about Disney though I couldn't care less. They go to Disneyland at least once a year, sometimes more, and bring back snacks. They discuss new rides, changes to this, and changes to that, honestly, I can’t keep track anymore but the point is they love Disney. My cousin is going to Paris soon and intends to spend at least one day in Disney Paris. This takes up the bulk of Pre-Paris conversations.
I am baffled by how attached they are to Disney. They don’t actually care much for the films, and in an incredible twist of irony, I pay for the Disney+ they all enjoy. They meticulously plan their outfits, what ears they’ll wear, what they will eat when, and so on. They must only enter Galaxy’s Edge at a very specific time and when they need a rest they have a very specific place to go. They plan months in advance, which is by default Very Adult. I suspect their obsession is not because of the food or the rides, but rather an inner desire to experience childlike wonder. What better place to ‘heal your inner child’ and experience a life free of adult responsibilities than Disney? And at a Totally Not Ridiculous price?
There’s an interesting juxtaposition here. Sari’s work asks us to question the socioeconomic standing of the person who owns the things she paints. She paints the images that make up the average millennial childhood, things we could find for a much more affordable price than a ticket to Disneyland. And here we are as adults, ready to throw tons of money to feel once again like those children who marveled at cheap gifts found in a McDonald's bag. Some of this seems natural, but then, is it? Do we really need to spend all this money to feel a sense of childlike wonder? Is it impossible to do so at a lower price?
“I like to incorporate elements of consumer culture from the past and present in my work for multiple reasons. I grew up below the poverty line, and coming from that I’ve seen that society’s disdain for parts of consumerism leans heavily on the aspects associated with low income people. Things like fast food and dollar store toys are sneered at as mass-produced and wasteful — elements of low society that should be condemned. You learn about the ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ places to shop according to society from a very young age, and I experienced the effects of classism throughout my early life. When the poor are being blamed for the ills of consumer culture while the wealthy fly private and spend lavishly on things they don’t need, you know there’s something wrong with that line of thinking.” - Sari Shryack (I could kiss this quote)
How much are we willing to pay to experience that childlike wonder we so crave? Last year, Disney Parks made a total of $32.5 Billion. The Ultimate Millennial Nerd Nostalgia store BoxLunch earned a total of $17 Million in 2023. Yes, significantly less than Disney Parks, but then they’re not charging so much for pretzels. And then there’s Pokemon Co., which made a total of $10.8 Billion in 2023. It’s recently been reported that Adults are buying more toys than ever, so it wouldn’t be outlandish to surmise that millennials are the ones supplying these companies with seemingly endless funds. We could argue the logistics of this back and forth (who are the adults buying toys for? How much of Disney and Pokemon’s revenue is a result of young families? So on and so forth), but frankly, I think we all know that millennials are a huge contributor to these companies. This is millennial culture, after all.
I spoke in the past about how I’m unsure of how contemporary artists can tackle a fast-moving world like ours, but I believe Sari Shryack is one of the few who has really nailed it. We have a craving for physical media, and the presence of her paintings, bright and in your face and screaming MILLENNIAL in the most delightful manner, have an odd way of both time traveling and being incredibly pleasant. She’s forcing us to confront our biases and is asking, “Well? Is this not good enough?” But she does so with a brightness that makes you want to dance and celebrate.
I may not understand the notion of healing your ‘inner child’ nor will I ever don Mickey Ears, but I cannot deny the sheer joy that I get when I come across her work. The fact that she’s started teaching only adds to that sense that you’re dealing with someone immensely talented, and so far above us. Really, I think the more I look at her work the more I want to be her friend.
I think joy is missing in so much of art. We have this ridiculous notion that art has to be deep and gloomy. We want art to be emo, but we fail to see the incredible gift of colors and light. I could never be the kind of person who only wants happy optimistic things to look at and ponder. That’s just not realistic. But why do we pretend that depth must come from somewhere dark? Why do we lie to ourselves and insist that happiness and joy, childlike joy, cannot give us deeper meaning?
Remember how I said I don't buy stuffies for play? That’s because I buy them for memories. Oh the irony, I know. I have a fox I got at the zoo after a family event. Now when I look at it, I remember that day. I have a bat I got to remind me of a weekend spent playing a tabletop game with my sister and nieces. I have two sharks, partially because I just really love sharks, but also because one of them has the name of an anime character I love. My nieces showed me the anime, and the next day they found the shark at a store and excitedly made the connection. I don’t even like anime, but I love the memories it’s brought me with my family.
Perhaps I’m not going to buy any Digimon posters or reread the Sailor Moon manga, nor will I rewatch the cartoons that shaped me as a child, but oh how I love the fundamentally human trait of physically manifesting memories. And maybe I just have my own form of millennial nostalgia unfolding before me. Who knows, maybe I’m not such a bad millennial after all. But I think I’ll sit back and enjoy some art that makes me happy. I think we all need a little bit of that sometimes.
Living in japan, nostalgia and toys are everywhere!! It’s pretty common to see adults obsessed with games, Pokémon, Disney. Adults talk about their love of Tokyo Disney, K-pop idols or their favorite Sanrio character. Overall it’s pretty culturally accepted for everyone from young children to older adults to be at arcades or trying to get a toy from the claw machine!
So true! Fun and joyful expression are deeply missing in art. There is profundity in playfulness, and Sari demonstrates that so well through her paintings. Great essay!